


Unboxing

by vega_voices



Series: Tapestry [3]
Category: Murphy Brown (TV)
Genre: Absent Fathers, F/M, Falling In Love, Older Women, everything old is new again, love at an older age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 12:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18851392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: “He loved you so much, Avery. He really did.” She took the photo back. “I never even asked if he wanted to keep in touch with you. I just … I let him go.”





	Unboxing

**Title:** Unboxing  
**Author:** vegawriters  
**Fandom:** Murphy Brown  
**Series:** Tapestry  
**Pairing:** Murphy Brown/Peter Hunt; Murphy Brown/Nate Campbell (mentions of others)  
**Rating:** Teen  
**Timeframe:** Post canon (after season 11)  
**A/N:** Sometimes OTPs will cross time, oceans, and canon to be together. This is dedicated to the cast and crew of season 11. Thank you for what we got. But really? Couldn’t we have had more?  
**Disclaimer:** It’s all owned by WB and Bend in the Road. I’m over here, crying into my cornflakes and wishing for a season 12. So, I’m writing it myself. For free, mind you.

 **Summary:** _“He loved you so much, Avery. He really did.” She took the photo back. “I never even asked if he wanted to keep in touch with you. I just … I let him go.”_

How on earth had it been twenty years?

Oh, they’d seen each other in passing at Press Club events and award ceremonies. He’d stared longingly after her, kicking himself for walking out the door that night. Even while holding onto his wife’s hand, holding their daughter, and truly loving his life, Murphy lived in the back of his heart. As irritating as a pebble in his shoe and as nostalgic a memory as a Hallmark movie would allow. But, the last time they’d spoken to each other was that night at Phil’s when she’d told him she had cancer, paid the bill, and walked out of his life for, what he always assumed, was the last time. Ten years later, she’d retired and he and Jenny had divorced.

“I love you, Peter,” his ex-wife had said as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “But I thought I could handle your life. I thought … I thought you would change, maybe. I thought you would find a reason to come home. But it isn’t fair of me to expect that. So I’m leaving before I grow to hate you.”

She hadn’t realized home wasn’t a place but a lifestyle, and the truth was he saw his daughter as often once he and Jenny split as he had when they were married. When Corrie went off to Northwestern and enrolled in the journalism program, he wasn’t sure if it was a Cat’s Cradle moment or some twisted sense of revenge. But then again, Rachel Maddow was her hero, not him.

He’d actually talked to Avery before he talked to Murphy. A buddy at Columbia had called, asking him to do a week of classes about the changes in foreign correspondency. When he’d looked at the class of thirty students, mostly white, all desperate to learn about reporting in countries that weren’t, he hadn’t expected to see a set of soft blue eyes that had once held up his arms and asked to be swung around and around.

Just as he had then, Avery Robert Brown looked just like his mother.

After class on the last day, Avery had come up, and Peter stood there, panicked as the little boy he’d considered a son handed over a tattered letter and photo and well-worn rosary. “How …” He’d asked.

“It’s okay,” Avery said with a smile. “I get why you and mom didn’t keep in touch.”

“She talked to you about me?”

Avery had only shaken his head. “No. Which is how I know how broken hearted she was over it. She gave these to me when she was diagnosed with cancer. I think she thought it would help me.” Awkward silence took the moment and Peter moved to gather this things. What was he supposed to say?

“I’m sorry.” The words came out. “I shouldn’t have left you. Either of you.”

“Not sure this is the place for a heart to heart,” Avery responded, his mouth quirked so like his mother. “And, I gotta get to my Calc class and I’d cut but I have a test. But…” he paused. “I’m sorry I didn’t come up sooner. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me. Honestly, my memories of you are kind of foggy too. But ... I … thank you. Thank you for this,” he took the letter back, “and thank you for this week.”

“Tell your mom hi for me.”

Avery shrugged. “You know, you could tell her yourself.”

Peter sighed. He hadn’t argued. He also hadn’t called. After all, how much time was too much time and Murphy was rumored to be the enamored of some liberal politician. But now, standing in the lobby of the CNC offices, awaiting the inevitable face-to-face, his hero persona had never felt more of a facade. He’d been divorced for ten years. By now, Avery had to have told him about the classes at Columbia.

He could have called.

“Peter Hunt we are so thrilled to have you,” Diana was saying as she walked him from his place in the lobby to the elevators. “Yes, we’re a small network, but with you anchoring the morning and our moving Murphy to the primetime spot, I think we’re in a good place. It’s too bad Avery is just too toxic still. I’d love to make it all a family affair.”

Peter choked. Diana’s tone made it clear she was familiar with his and Murphy’s history.

The office was small, but had a nice view of a nearby park and easy access to his executive producer and primary researcher. And, like the last time he’d worked at the same network as the woman who held his heart, a perfect sightline of Murphy’s office.

Diana left him to get settled in. He had a meeting in an hour with his EP, but until then it was about unpacking. His rosary, once always in his pocket, now tucked in his desk drawer. The photo collage of Corrie that he’d printed off of her instagram. He wanted to go across the hall, he wanted to knock on her office door and grab her and kiss her and play the romantic lead that his cowardice had always prevented.

But his EP, a young creature fresh out of school - so she came cheap - poked her head in the door and the meeting extended into Murphy’s timeslot and by the time he was free to talk, her door was locked and everything was dark.

Peter went to turn off his light and lock the door when something caught his eye. He froze, turning. There, on his desk, was a rubber rat.

Well.

She knew.

***

He could have called. The bastard. He could have called. Murphy had stepped into his office, ready to yell at him, to hide her feelings as always behind her wall of terror, but one whif of the cologne that hadn’t changed in twenty-five years and she lost herself in romantic nostalgia. She’d closed the door and leaned against it, staring at boxes full of notes, at the photos of his daughter. Corrie looked like him. Was his rosary in the desk drawer or still, forever, in his pocket.

She missed him.

Once, she’d flopped into her office at FYI, looked Kay in the eye and skewered her soul as she confessed that Jerry Gold was not the one who got away. She’d opened her legs for 6 and a half minutes of the worst sex she’d had in her life, helping him cheat on his fiance, and all she could do was think of Peter and how she’d let him get away.

If he’d leaned in to kiss her that night in Phil’s, when she’d told him about her cancer, would she have let him?

Slowly, she walked over and sat in his still-unused chair. Muscle memory took over and she tilted her head up, remembering forever how he’d leaned in, so close to her, and took the wind out of her as his lips touched hers.

Did he still think of that moment?

She had hardly been chaste since his walk out of her door. Scott and Jerry and the far-too convoluted fling with Senator Carson from Virginia. Unbeknownst to Miles, she’d even hooked up with Josh again shortly after her retirement. But like the first time, it had been a fling of necessity, lasting a few quiet weekends in the cabin in upstate New York. Her casual relationship with Nate was fun, but it wasn’t quite what she was looking for. The truth was, in twenty years, they’d all had to measure up to the ghost of the man who now inhabited this office.

Who was she kidding, holding onto this dream? He still looked like he could climb a tank and bench press even her.

The fall she’d taken in Italy had led to the first hip replacement. The fall down the stairs at the townhouse resulted in the second. She scoffed now at the suits she’d used to wear, amazed that the body that was at least 40 pounds heavier now than it had looked like that. What, had she just not eaten bread for most of her adult life?

Her skin was so pale it was translucent, her hair had lost much of its curl, and 71 was so much further away than 64 than 46 and 39 ever had been. It was time, truly, to let the fantasy go. Murphy shook her head, chasing away the memory of a kiss that had led to his long, talented fingers fluttering between her thighs while she cupped him through his jeans, left the toy rat on his desk, and stood up to leave. They were working together now. Again. She needed to leave the past to crumble to dust.

***

It was quiet. Too quiet. Avery crept down from his office to his mother’s library office, listening carefully for the telltale signs that she was with Nate. He’d walked in on them one too many times to ever truly trust silence. But there was no judge tonight. Only his mother on the couch in the library, her fingers trailing slowly over a well-read letter. Next to her was a battered photo box.

“Mom?” He leaned in the doorway, watching carefully. Age was giving way to far more sentimentality than he thought possible from her and if anything, it was always good for storytelling. His mother had forgotten more about life than almost anyone would ever learn. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing …” she sucked in a breath and folded the paper. “Nothing.”

It was then he realized she was crying. Her eyes were red and tired and there was a crumpled tissue in her lap. “Mom?” It didn’t look like nothing.

She met his eyes. “Avery, I want you to make me a promise.”

“Okay …” His heart jumped just a bit and he started to run through scenarios. Was Uncle Jim sick and she was working up the nerve to tell him?

“When you meet the person who makes you realize that love doesn’t need to be difficult, that all of the stories about how marriage is a chore are just told by people who are unhappy … hold onto that person. Love them. Unconditionally. Even when you’re terrified.”

Well. Okay. At least he had a roadmap. “Dad? Or Peter?”

Her blue eyes widened and she sat up a bit straighter. “How the hell do you … I mean.”

“You gave me his letter when you got sick, remember? You said it was okay if I didn’t remember him, but that he’d loved me like a son. I do remember him, vaguely. The picture you gave me helped.” Avery came in and sat down, reaching for the box. His mother made a half-hearted attempt to stop him but Avery pulled out a picture she’d taken of him and Peter together. Avery was in a little jean jacket, his hat on backward, cradled in Peter’s arms. “I remember this jacket.”

“He loved you so much, Avery. He really did.” She took the photo back. “I never even asked if he wanted to keep in touch with you. I just … I let him go.”

“I know. I have the letter.” He smiled. “I never told you this, but he was a guest lecturer in my international class at Columbia.”

“Avery!”

“I didn’t want you to get all misty-eyed. You’d just retired and you were sneaking around with Josh.”

His mother laughed. “You weren’t supposed to know about him.”

“You’ve got a thing for younger guys, don’t you?”

“Shhh.” She sighed and folded the letter carefully. The creases told Avery how often over the years she’d walked down that memory lane. “And you don’t get to read these. Ever.”

Avery was about to ask why and then realized just what she meant. Oh no, he’d bury her with them. “So what has you pulling the box out tonight?”

“Diana brought in Peter for the afternoon block.”

Avery choked. “Mom … you okay?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I’m going to have to be, I guess.” Slowly, she put the lid back on the box. “I’m sorry I never really told you about him. But. He just … Avery, I’ve never forgiven myself for letting him go and he went on to have this wonderful life. And so did I. Now he’s divorced and we’re working across the hall from each other and it’s hard not to want to …” she shrugged. “It’s a moot point, anyway.”

“Why?” Avery watched his mother, seeing her shoulders slump and her face fall. He knew what she was about to say and his heart broke before she opened her mouth.

“I’m not …” she shrugged. “I’m not the woman I was when I was with him, Avery.”

“Mom …”

The lid tightened on the box and he watched the mask slide right back into place. “No. It’s fine. It will be good to be working with him again, definitely. But, these,” she patted the box, “these were a lifetime ago.” She pushed off the couch, grunting a bit as she did, and the look on her face told him this was exactly what she meant. She didn’t say anything else to him. Just walked out of the library and up the stairs. When her bedroom door closed, Avery knew to leave her be.

***

Her office door was open. Of course it was. She wasn’t in there, which meant she wasn’t far. Nervous, Peter leaned in the doorway, surveying the familiar damage. Nothing had really changed. Notes were still piled high on every flat surface. The magazine covers had been replaced with her two book covers and last year’s Woman of the Year TIME cover. There were still toys on the shelves, one of her Emmys, and a small glass award he didn’t recognize. Avery’s graduation photo on the desk next to one of her and him at a photoshoot from what he assumed was last year when the media was loving the Brown vs. Brown angle. Even the air still smelled of her. Just a hint of Obsession and that hand cream she’d always used.

The last time he’d kissed her in her office, it had been the day before he’d proposed. He and Avery had plans to play all day, and they had. They’d gone and seen the monkeys at the zoo and went to get hot dogs by the big construction site so Avery could stare at the trucks. Afterward, they’d chased each other around Kiddie Land and everyone had assumed he was Avery’s father and he’d never denied it.

To this day, he still didn’t know if she’d been pregnant and miscarried or if she really just had been late with her period. Logic told him that it didn’t matter, but he also knew that the minute he proposed, everything changed. And when it came down to the wire, she’d balked and he hadn’t known how to salvage the play.

No. He had. If he’d walked back in the door and taken her in his arms, everything would have been different. Instead, he’d left. He’d left.

Peter shook his head, laughing at the karmic gods that were hellbent on ruining his sense of equilibrium. It wasn’t like he was deserving of her anymore anyway. Wars and injury and creeping age had long since caught up with him and there were some memories they both deserved to cherish.

Not that he wouldn’t love to again look into her eyes as she arched her back and dug her nails into his biceps as climax took her.

“There you are …” the familiar voice came from behind him. “Always threatening to leave but never quite going …”

Peter turned and found himself caught, as always, in the tidal pull of those blue eyes. He wanted to smile, to shrug, to be suave and just push past the barriers that twenty years and a failed marriage had put between them. He wanted to put his hands on her hips and kiss the lips he still dreamed about.

Would she still want him?

Dear God she was just as beautiful as the day he’d left. Which he knew because he’d seen the news, but seeing her in front of him was different. Shorter now, time having taken its toll on her body, she still stood there with her shoulders back and her head up, never giving an inch of ground. She’d put on some weight, and her hair was thinner, but she was still Murphy. Always Murphy.

“Whose fault was it last time?” Were the words that emerged and he kicked himself when she winced.

“You’re in my office.” The tone was slightly colder, just a hair more distant.

“You left this behind,” he held up the rat. “At least it isn’t a fish.”

She reached for the toy. “I promise not to punch you this time.”

Peter almost held the rat out of her reach. He wanted to tease her back into his personal space and slide his arm around her waist and bring her close against him. Would she wrap her arms around his back like she had once, holding him tightly against her while whispering promises for later?

Oh, taking this job had been a bad idea.

He handed the rat back and suppressed the urge to reach for her hand when their fingers brushed. What now? What did he say now? What did he do now?

Luckily, karma answered for him. Footfalls caught both of their attention and Peter looked over to see Judge Nathan Campbell coming down the hall. He stepped back, assuming Murphy had an interview. Instead he watched, his feet glued to the floor while the blood drained from his body, as the taller man leaned down and greeted Murphy with a kiss.

“You ready?”

“Yes. But I only have half an hour. I’ve got an editing meeting.” Murphy looked over, the rat still in her hands, and took a breath. “Nate, this is Peter Hunt. He’s …” their eyes locked for a long minute. Long enough that Judge Campbell looked between them in that awkward way that lovers did when they knew more than anyone would ever dare say. “He’s an old friend and a new colleague.”

Friend. Friend. Of course she’d introduce him that way, but. Friend. Peter sucked in a breath and held out his hand. “Good to finally meet you, Judge Campbell.” The other man returned the gesture. “I hear before the election, you were on the short list for the Court. I’m sorry for the turn of events.”

“I’m not. Too much politics.” Nate slipped an arm around Murphy and Peter took a step back. A claim was laid and he wasn’t about to treat Murphy like a treat to be won. “Well, good to meet you, Peter. If we’re going to get lunch, Murphy …”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Welcome to CNC, Peter. I’ll see you later. Let me just get my bag, Nate.”

Peter slunk back to his office and collapsed into his chair, watching with feigned disinterest as the judge and the reporter walked off together, tucked into a familiarity that Peter wasn’t sure was his right to even entertain disrupting.

***

It hadn’t been a conversation to be had over a quick club sandwich at Phil’s. Murphy knew that. Even though Nate was clearly curious, she also appreciated that he seemed to understand it too. So, when he asked if she wanted to have dinner after the show, she accepted. It wasn’t their usual routine, but this wasn’t usual.

If wasn’t a committed thing with Nate. Not yet. She enjoyed their Sunday nights together and their occasional lunch. The sex wasn’t the best she’d ever had, but she had a feeling that at 71, those days were now behind her. It was fun and there wasn’t any pressure, even if she knew Nate was a bit more attached than she was.

She also gave him credit for waiting until after his wine and her club soda had appeared before asking.

“We were engaged once, a long time ago,” Murphy replied to his question. It was easier to just rip off the bandaid. “No, he isn’t Avery’s father, but he’s as close as it ever came.”

Nate was silent. Murphy let him process. Hell, she was still processing.

Because, Peter looked good. Oh, his eyes still twinkled with that sense of mischief she’d always been so entranced by. He was thinner now, aging into that skeletal frame that men of his body type tended to adopt. His gray streak now just gray, with a few hints of brown and black remaining.

“How long ago?” Nate finally asked.

“Avery was five when he left.” She stopped herself. “When I broke up with him.” She stopped again. “When I called off the wedding.”

“Why did you?”

“Call off the wedding?”

She swallowed, thinking back to that hotel room, the hurricane fading around them as all that mattered was the pregnancy scare and Peter’s earnest proposal and the terror she’d felt as she said yes. She’d meant it. Oh, she’d meant it. She’d wanted him to meet her in front of a judge and tell the world they were going to figure it out while they waited to crash and burn.

How did she tell this man, this sweet man, about how she hid her fears behind Frank’s insecurities and her terror of turning into her parents and how she went to the bachelor party completely sure and walked out terrified and even when Peter showed up, ready to run to the judge, she’d been sure it was right. How did she tell him that she’d let some terror she still didn’t understand ruin her chance with the one man who truly made her happy?

Finally, she looked up into Nate’s eyes. “Honestly, I wish I could explain it. But it was almost twenty-five years ago and things happen.”

“We always remember why we call off weddings, Murphy.”

“Stop being a judge.”

“Can’t help it.”

She chuckled and patted his hand. “I was scared, Nate. In the end, that’s what it was. And, if you are curious, I regret it. I’ve lived a great life, but I regret letting him walk out the door that night.”

She watched the emotions cross his face and they were both glad when their salads arrived. Murphy knew the next sentence had to be his. So she poked at the cucumber and tomato on her plate and wished she’d ordered the soup.

“Are you going to be okay working with him?”

“You’re asking if I’m going to go lock myself in his office and beg him to rip my clothes off?” Was her hope that it would happen showing? Because, she wanted him to.

Nate smiled, but it was hollow. Murphy shrugged. “It’s been twenty-five years, Nate. I can act like time hasn’t passed, but it has.”

“I just …” he sighed. “I apologize. “I was thrown this afternoon.”

“To be fair,” she pushed her half finished salad away and picked up another piece of bread. “So was I.”

And the truth they both left unspoken was that she wasn’t sure what she’d do if Peter again leaned in for a kiss. What she and Nate had was wonderful, but it wasn’t cemented. They had never said they wouldn’t date others. So what? Was he expecting a declaration of love and commitment? She couldn’t. Not yesterday before she’d seen Peter again and not today either. Maybe it was silly and childish, but she still carried a flame for him, and right now, all she knew was how her heart raced when she thought of him and how when she closed her eyes, she could still see him looking at her.

Nate took a breath and, smartly, changed the subject.

***

He was too much his mother’s son not to go snooping and, luckily, the box wasn’t hard to find. The text message told him not to worry - Spending the night with Nate. See you tomorrow. Well, Avery blinked, that was unexpected.

But, the freedom in the house gave him the chance to dig. He gave his mother credit for at least hiding the box. Clearly, she was expecting him to follow the rule she’d laid down about the letters. But he couldn’t. He needed to know about this part of her life - of their lives - that he could only vaguely remember.

When he tried, he could remember strong arms lifting him up. Juice boxes and racing around on his big wheeler. He could remember singing and playing in the park. He remembered one night standing on the stairs and his mother was in her pjs and she was so sad. So he’d told her he couldn’t sleep, because voices had woken him up, and she’d picked him up and they’d danced around and after that night, he never saw Peter again. Mommy had told him that Peter was going to be his daddy but then he went away. Just like his other daddy.

She’d given him the letter when she got sick. Peter had written it for him when he was old enough and Avery had sat on his bed, fuming at how unfair it was that no one but Frank and Corky loved his mom, and read words that didn’t make any sense.

If this guy, Peter, cared so much about him, why hadn’t he stayed?

So he’d called Eldin. Eldin would care. Eldin had cared.

After his mom got better, he read the letter again. And again. And again. This guy he barely remembered, he was more of a father than his own, and even as he got older and Jake became slightly more of a presence in his life, Avery still wondered.

Why had his mother Peter him go? Why had he left?

The box his mother had given him that day held three items: a well-worn leather jacket, and an obsidian rosary, and the letter.

_Avery,_

_By the time you’re old enough to read this, you probably won’t remember me. But, I’m never going to forget you. You see, up until about two days ago, I was the luckiest guy in the world. I was going to get to be your father._

_I’d never dated anyone with kids before, not until I met your mom. I always assumed that kids would ruin the vibe. You only made it better. I loved getting to run around with you and help you learn to read and never once when I took you out, did I think of it as babysitting. From day one, you were as much my responsibility as your mom._

_I’m writing this because you deserve to know the truth and maybe, this letter will be moot. Maybe your mom and I will fix this. But, I’m not sure. I’m not sure. And even though I want to keep in touch with you no matter what, I think a clean break will be best for all of us. Because, see, I’m not sure why your mom and I broke up. I think we were scared. I think we let the pressure get to us. I think the process of showing we were ready to get married was bigger than just doing it._

_But the last two years, Avery, they’ve meant everything to me. I do love you and I’m never going to stop loving you and I’m sorry if this is the only communication you’ll ever get from me again. I’m hoping this jacket will serve you well when you’re old enough to wear it. And as for the rosary - I know your mom isn’t religious. I’m not really, either. I was once. I was in seminary school and everything. Got kicked out for cheating, which is a whole other story. But some things remained and this rosary, it’s kept me safe in a lot of places. I want it to keep you safe too._

_I love you, kid._

_-Peter_

The box was in her closet, but accessible. He could see where it usually rested, up on a shelf where she could reach but not think too much about. Avery settled on the floor, kicking aside a pair of her pumps, and opened the box.

If nostalgia had a smell, these letters held it. Avery reached first for the photos - the one from the other night was on top, but the stack revealed a life he wished he remembered.

His mother in a dark blue formal, leaning against Peter, who was wearing a tux with a matching bow tie and cumberbund. They were laughing at something off camera and his mother was practically glowing. Peter’s arm was around her like they belonged together. He flipped it over and there in his mother’s chicken scratch was the date and event - The Emmys, apparently.

Another, the three of them at the zoo. Peter was holding him and his mother had a handful of toys that she’d probably grabbed for herself. The park. The office.

Avery stopped. He and Peter standing together in matching tuxedos. He turned the photo over. Wedding fitting.

A life he didn’t remember but he knew in his soul it had happened. He could feel these moments. What had ruined it?

Nervous for the content, he picked up a letter, swearing he’d put it away if there was any mention of unmentionable acts. He was hardly a prude, but reading love letters from his mother’s fiance wasn’t something he was ready for.

_Murphy,_

_I know we almost ruined it, but the Island was wonderful. Especially after we forgot about money laundering charities and focused on each other. Breaking records indeed. You were beautiful in the moonlight, with the breeze blowing in. I’m really glad we got the chance to play with that thing in your suitcase --_

Avery stopped. Okay. Next. A postcard. That had to be safer territory.

_Murphy,_

_Hello from Moscow, even if the card says Paris. It was there in my bag for some reason. Off to Peru next, so I won’t be back like I thought. Kiss Avery for me. See you in a few weeks. I miss you._

_-P_

Slowly, Avery put the postcard back in the box and reached for another letter. The airmail stamp listed Saraejvo.

_Murphy,_

_I don’t know if I’m coming back. The bombing has intensified and the shelter we were in was destroyed last night. If I don’t come home, and this letter gets out, you gotta know that I’m in love with you, I love Avery, and I died thinking about you._

_-Peter_

Avery stopped breathing.

He’d been given a harsh look into his mother’s life as a foreign correspondent when he was in Afghanistan. One minute he’d been at a Starbucks and the next he’d been hiding in a mud hut, praying that the guards would keep moving. He knew, realistically, his next series of gigs could be in places like that. Over and over again. How many of these kinds of letters did his mother have from Peter?

He reached for another. Opened it. Put it back.

Another. Another. Another. He eventually skimmed some of the steamier ones, hoping for substance.

And then, the handwriting changed.

_Peter,_

_I’ve started this letter a hundred times. For all of the ones you’ve sent me, how on earth is this so difficult._

_I’ve tried to say it over and over again. But it all comes back to this: come home. I’m sorry. I meant it when I said I wanted to marry you. Avery misses you almost more than I do._

_Let’s be a family._

_I love you,  
Murphy_

He stared at the words. He’d always wondered if his mother had ever said them to anyone in her life other than him. But there, right there in her handwriting, was the proof. She had loved someone. She’d wanted them in her life. She’d wanted him back.

Avery’s heart broke for her, for the walls she’d spent her life behind, for the fear that had to have dodged her. He knew she had regrets, but in his life, he’d never suspected this level of tenderness and passion for someone. Not like this. He’d only ever guessed at the basics from what he knew of his own frayed thread of a connection to Peter.

His fingers shook as he folded the last of the letters and put things back, photos on top. He slid the box back into its spot and pulled himself up from the floor.

He felt cheated. Almost thirty and discovering this whole part of a life that had been tucked away behind lock and key. Avery wouldn’t change a thing when it came to his relationship with his mother, but she deserved more than she’d ever allowed herself.

How lonely had it been for her all these years?

Why hadn’t she sent that letter?

Avery made his way back to his room and sank onto the bed. He’d redone it over the last few months, turning it from his teenage cave into a space for him as he was now. Along the shelf by his bed were pictures. Him and Eldin. Him and his mother. The whole FYI family. Uncle Frank. Aunt Corky. Even his father, from the first summer he’d spent with Jake. They weren’t close, but when Jake had asked to be a part of his life, Avery had allowed it.

There was nothing missing from his family album. Nothing. No one. Except, now he knew, a father who had wanted him.


End file.
